


Barricaded

by Exactlywhat



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exactlywhat/pseuds/Exactlywhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starfire201 requested a  fic -- Prowl's so often portrayed as Barricade, but... what about the other Praxians? What about Smokescreen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skywinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywinder/gifts).



Shockwave was not pleased. He stared at the unconscious blue and red Praxian strapped to the exam table, and, had he possessed a more conventional mouth, he would have frowned. This wasn't the tactician he wanted. Not even close. 

The rumble of his engine made the two mechs standing on the other side of the table cower. “Sir, Commander Shockwave, the Autobot Tactical Commander was too well guarded. We couldn't get him. We could get this mech, so... we thought it would be better to come back with something...”

“You _thought_. Get out of my sight.”

“Yes, Commander Shockwave, sir, right away, sir.”

Curse the stupidity of the mechs he commanded!

The two Decepticon grunts practically ran from the room, metaphorical tails between their legs. Shockwave remained in the lab, staring at the offline mech. Perhaps he could put this Autobot to use, after all. It would be a good idea to test the process...

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Smokescreen woke with a horrible helm-ache. He moaned, rolling said aching helm to the side. “What did I _do_ last night?” he groaned, lifting a hand to rub at an aching chevron. 

Only to find that his arm wouldn't respond to his commands. 

He glanced down. Thick, metalomesh bands secured him to a table. They wrapped over his chassis, over his arms, over his legs, and, when he tried to twitch his doorwings (which were beginning to ache – they weren't meant to be laid on), he found that there were bands securing _them_ as well. 

Movement made him glance to the side, and every process he had running froze. 

Deep purple armor, so dark it was practically black. A single red-ringed yellow optic. An insect-like mouth, the vertical opening lined with long, pincer-like teeth. 

Shockwave. _Shockwave._ He was strapped to a berth and Shockwave was standing over him.

Immediately, he started deleting things. Autobot access codes. The most recent plans he had been working on. Autobot troop movement and allocation. Base plans. Everything save for his personal memories and core coding. Then, with some hesitation, he pulled up a very old code, installed vorns ago.

**Engaging Suicide Protocols;**

**Activate/Disengage/Standby?**

**Selected: Standby.**

“What do you want, Shockwave?” Smokescreen forced out of a glitching vocalizer. “I've already deleted everything.”

Shockwave's optic glimmered. “Yes, I assumed so. However, it's not your information I want. We can get that from... other places.”

That scared Smokescreen more than he wanted to admit. “Then what? What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much... Just the use of your frame and spark for a time.”

**Suicide Protocols;**

**Engage/Disengage/Standby?**

**Selected: Engaged.**

**Engaging...**

“Oh, I’m afraid I can't let you do that.”

The Praxian moaned as the pressure-pain in his helm increased. He abruptly became aware of something linked up to his processor, hooked into the medical port on the back of his helm. 

**Suicide Protocols: Deleted.**

What? No. No! He couldn't do that!

Again, the pressure-pain in his helm increased, and he could feel the foreign coding streaming in. Forced downloads hurt, and this was a large one. The Praxian writhed in his bonds, whimpering as he felt his systems reset, one by one, and the new protocols and programming settling into place. 

He felt _himself_ being pushed back, being subdued. Struggling, he threw up firewalls, trying to stop the advance of the invading programming, but it blasted through everything.

Slagging Shockwave. Fraggit all!

“Frag you!” Smokescreen managed to rasp, right before his vocalizer reset. He could feel his control of his frame slipping away. Slowly, he stopped writhing, slowly, his frame began to follow new commands. 

Something pressed up against his mind, battering him back. He dug metaphorical heels in, put all his strength into keeping it out. 

_No!_ he growled as it gained more ground. _I will not be destroyed!_

The invading force just pushed harder. Diverting some attention to his core coding, Smokescreen began frantically writing firewalls and counter-viruses, trying to find a way to save himself. 

Realizing his attention was split, the force shoved again, and Smokescreen lost more of himself. With a growl, the tactician threw himself into his own core coding, and instead of fighting back, began lining up the invading code with his own. 

He wasn't able to stop it. But frag it all if he just let it take over! He would hide himself in the program. Make sure there was still some of him alive. Something that could be saved. 

He aligned his personality matrix with the new matrix that was being pushed into his processor, allowing his to be changed slightly, but in return, changing what was being forced on him. He would barricade himself away, keep himself safely hidden within his own processor.

Then everything went dark, and the program took over. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The Praxian mech stirred on the berth, still restrained, and opened his optics. They were still blue, but there was a menacing edge of red circling the outside. Shockwave clicked, and the mech looked over, optics focusing intently on the scientist.

“What is your name, Decepticon?” Shockwave asked, taking a step forward. 

The mech twitched as the scientist lay a hand on his leg plating. “My name?”

“Yes. You must have a name.”

“I... Barricade. I will be called Barricade.”

“What is your purpose, Barricade?”

“To destroy the Autobots.”

Shockwave would have been smirking if it were physically capable. As it was, his field radiated an acute sense of smug accomplishment. “Good. Welcome to the Decepticons."


	2. Chapter 2

Barricade's behavior was a strange mix of that of a war-hardened soldier, a youngling, and the Autobot tactician who had been overwritten. 

He fought brutally. Multiple combat files had been downloaded with the overwrite, and they had integrated beautifully. Brawling was common among the Decepticon ranks, but mechs quickly learned to leave the (now black and white) Praxian alone. 

Yet, despite his brutality, he acted like a child in unfamiliar situations. Curious, innocent, obvious. He asked questions a lot, and, though he seemed to view Shockwave as his “creator,” there were times when he only saw the scientist with fear, though he could never figure out why, exactly. 

Then, the first time part of Smokescreen's programming turned up. 

He had been stalking down a hallway, heading back to his room after drinking his evening energon, when he happened to glance inside a room. Five mechs were sitting around a low table, chatting and laughing. 

Barricade stepped inside, optics flickering from their brilliant scarlet to a muted sort of purple. Cards were currently in the process of being dealt, and, even though he knew he had never seen anything like this before, it was just so _familiar._

He sat down in the empty spot. The other mechs looked at him nervously, and the dealing stopped. 

“What are you waiting for?” he growled, and, for some reason, the low rasp sounded _wrong_. It should have been smoother, less vicious.

He shook the feeling off. 

“What are you waiting for?” he demanded again. “Deal me in.”

Despite not knowing the rules, he picked up the thin sheets of metal handed over to him and spread them in a fan. They felt comfortable in his claws. But the black color was wrong. They should be blue? 

Again, he shook off the feeling, focusing on the game. 

He played instinctively for the first part, losing most of what he bet, but soon, he had a firm grasp of the rules. The tables started to turn, and credits and energon chips started piling up in front of him. A vicious grin spread over his face as he raked in even more. Then something in him tugged gently. 

_No, you aren't supposed to take it all. Lose a bit. Because if you get a reputation of always winning everything, they'll never play again. Better to gain a little over a long time than to win it all once and never have the chance to win again._

Barricade blinked. Where had that come from? But it made sense, in a strange, twisted sort of way. So he stopped taking it all. He still counted the cards, still stayed in control, but he wasn't taking everything. He dropped out about when he broke even. The other mechs shot him grins as he stood from the table. 

“Come play again sometime. Every other orn, same time, same place,” one of them invited, and the others nodded in agreement.

He nodded, smiling back, only a hint of malice in the expression. “Sure.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Shockwave soon caught on to his creation's little exploits. He would disappear for joors at a time, only to come back smug and a tiny bit richer. And those credits were adding up. 

So he tailed the mech. Followed him to that little room, watched through the cameras as he played, expertly so, despite having only been introduced to it a groon ago. 

This was worrisome. That tactician had been known for his gambling. And that Barricade was now showing signs of becoming the same kind of expert...

Well... It wasn't a good sign. 

But there had been nothing else. Perhaps this was just one of those traits that was hardwired into the spark and frame? 

But Shockwave didn't rely on simple supposition. He resolved to keep a sharp optic on the mech. 

It wouldn't do for the coding to dissolve and break down, allowing the Autobot free reign in their base, after all. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Smokescreen was aware of what was going on. Barely, but he was. Things were fuzzy and distant, but his thoughts were clear. He could feel the program... the other mech thinking alongside him, could feel the programs processing next to him. 

Barricade, the program... mech... called himself. Smokescreen had to laugh at it. His last thought must have been caught by the program. 

Actually, a lot of things pointed to that last thought being caught. The name, for one. Also, the fact that, somewhere, deep in his processors (deep enough for Smokescreen to see and understand), Barricade considered himself a barricade, a wall, a fighting force, between the Autobots and Decepticons. Or he would, once he was actually allowed out to fight. And the fact that Barricade kept a wall up between everyone around him and himself. Not uncommon in the Decepticons, but very strange for a newly created mech, even one with the shadows of another mech in his processors. 

But it was only a shadow to everyone else. Smokescreen was very much there. And, apparently, able to 'speak' to Barricade, as he found during that first card game. 

Had he still been in possession of his frame, Smokescreen would have smiled victoriously. He had a chance. He hadn't been deleted. 

Not to mention this would be an interesting learning experience as a psychologist. How much could a “conscience” influence a mech? 

With a mental grin, Smokescreen settled in, very much prepared to wait until he could find a way to get himself his frame back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bunny's been ravenous, lately, and most of my leg is gone now. But I can't hate the bunny... it's so cute, in its own rabid, bite-y way. 
> 
> And fortunately for me, I've managed to get enough time to type to satisfy said bunny. :D

Chapter 3

That voice was back. The one that had told him how to play cards, and had started talking periodically throughout the orns. 

It had always given good advice. Told him things that made sense and helped him understand the world around him like no one else every could. He supposed it was because whatever the voice was, it was in his processor. 

Barricade knew that most mechs didn't think voices were the mark of a sane mech, but... he knew he wasn't crazy. He didn’t have a glitch. He had run too many diagnostics, _Shockwave_ had run too many, for him to have one. 

But even if he was insane, he didn't mind. The voice helped out a lot, and he didn't want to get rid of it. It was the one thing he could trust in life. Shockwave didn't count. 

Actually, he was beginning to lose his trust in the Decepticon scientist. The mech was always watching him (as the voice helpfully pointed out). Shockwave didn't trust him, which made the shock trooper get suspicious. Why wouldn't he be trusted? Had he not proven himself loyal in all ways? 

Growling, the mech ducked for cover, dodging blaster fire, forcing his processor to the situation at hand. 

_What do I do?,_ he asked himself, hoping the voice gave him some help.

His voice remained silent. It always was in battle situations, even though outside of them, it showed every inclination toward knowing his way around a battlefield. 

With a heavy vent, the black and white mech peeked around the pile of rubble he was sheltering behind. Blaster shots had him ducking down again, lest he risk his slim black chevron. Not to mention his helm. 

_Wish you'd say something,_ he said forlornly to his absentee voice. 

_Why would I help you destroy my allies?_

Barricade froze. _You're... Autobot?_

 _Was. Before I was you,_ the voice said, sounding reluctant. 

_That makes no sense._

_Doesn't need to. Just... don't die. I want my frame and spark back sometime. Dying would impede my eventual return to control._

Barricade growled to himself. Or at the voice. It was hard to tell. _Maybe I should die. I'd be killing another Autobot._

 _Idiot,_ the voice said, then was silent. The Decepticon sat.

He could kill himself. Easily. Jump out in front of enemy fire. Good way to get himself, and the Autobot living in his processor, slagged completely and beyond help. 

But... that also meant he would be killing himself. And as much as he wanted to remove another Autobot from the equation, he didn't really want to die. And the Autobot was stuck in his processor anyways, so it wasn’t like he could do anything. 

With a sigh, he went back to sitting, sticking his helm and blaster around the edge of the rubble to shoot whenever there was a lull in the blasts coming from the Autobots. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Smokescreen, had he still been in possession of his extremities, would have smacked himself on the chevron. Hard. 

How stupid! Letting Barricade know he was an Autobot. The Decepticon program hated the Autobots. 

He could only assume that it had been the stress involved with watching and feeling (not)himself shoot at his former comrades. Or something. Perhaps it was the honest confusion the mech had been asking and wondering with. 

And then telling Barricade he would take control again! Stupid, stupid! He was so slagging stupid!

Slag it! The program that had taken over his frame and spark had grown on him. Literally and figuratively. When he wasn't out here shooting at Autobots, or wrestling with other 'Cons, he was... innocent. Nice. Kind, save for when the Decepticon programming, the soldier's programs, were influencing him. Like a youngling for the most part. 

Smokescreen found that he genuinely cared for the Decepticon inhabiting his frame. Fragit! He couldn't care. Had to stay impartial. Had to keep himself separate. Because caring would only result in trouble. He had to override the program. Delete it. Regain control. 

Because that was all it was. A program. Not a mech. Definitely not a mech. 

Couldn't be. 

Could it?

But all mental signs pointed to a mech developing. A young one, sure, but a mech all the same. Influenced by past coding, influenced by the heavy military and battle protocols installed with his personality matrix, but... 

He was a mech. Barricade was a mech. 

Smokescreen felt his spark drop, and felt Barricade's confusion at the sudden depression he was feeling for no apparent reason. 

Slag. This was going to make things difficult.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bunnies are vicious. >.

Shockwave was confused. It was not a feeling he enjoyed. He liked to know what was happening around him. He liked to understand things. He didn't like it when he didn't know, didn't understand.

And Barricade's behavior was, at least, extremely confusing. Not suspicious. Just confusing.

Which just puzzled the old cyclopes even more.

The mech was acting even more vicious, tearing into anyone who even looked at him in the wrong way. He was a monster on the battlefield, ripping the Autobots apart, often literally. He was... he wasn't the youngling he had been. He wasn't as curious. He did as ordered without question. He didn't wonder. He was a closed off fighting machine.

Shockwave was, understandably, very pleased.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Smokescreen was laying low. Barricade hadn't taken his admission very well. Any time the Autobot spoke to him, he just growled and pretended the voice didn't exist.

It was driving Smokescreen absolutely crazy. He had been stuck as a simple voice before, but at least he had been able to talk to someone. Now, he was isolated and alone, stuck in his own processor, watching as the mech inhabiting his body vehemently accepted the violent Decepticon coding.

Even as the tactician frantically deleted all he could of the programming Shockwave had downloaded, the Decepticon was accepting it and integrating it just as enthusiastically.

Smokescreen constantly felt lost and depressed, and that was driving Barricade crazy.

Worse than that, though, was that he had nothing to do. He was... floating. He found himself periodically “waking up,” long blank spaces of memory behind him. He felt his own coding fading.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

They held the stalemate for close to three vorns, in which Barricade became one of the most feared not-officer Decepticons. He was vicious, cruel, and merciless.

And he was dying inside.

He felt like he was falling apart. The Autobot in his processor had faded, but... he could feel parts of himself fading with the tactician.

He could feel the tactician's periodic panic, when he woke up and realized he couldn't remember. And Barricade... he felt that fear, and then continued feeling it even after the Autobot faded again.

There was part of him in the Autobot. Something he was losing. He knew Shockwave was pleased with what he was turning into, but the scientist still scared him. As time had passed, he had realized just what Shockwave was, and had grown to hate the purple cyclopes.

Panic was setting in. Digging deep into his spark. He didn't want to lose whatever it was. Even if it was _Autobot_ in nature. It was part of him, and _nobody_ would make him let it go!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

_Um... Autobot?_

The words startled him out of the haze that was his existence these orns. Smokescreen stirred sluggishly.

_… Barricade?_

_Yeah..._

Smokescreen woke a little more, processes slowly clearing. W _hat do you want?_

_I... I think.... I’m..._

The tactician mentally shook himself. _What is it, Barricade? You made it quite clear that you don't want me._

 _I don't,_ the Decepticon admitted. _But... I’m... losing myself. I think... I need you. What's happening, Autobot?_

Smokescreen “stared” at the Decepticon, examining him closely. The tone... it was that of a helpless, confused youngling pleading with its creator. This... pity rose in his spark, prompting a snarl from the Decepticon.

 _I don't need your pity!_ Then the anger abated. Sadness welled up in the shared spark. _I don't know what I need anymore._

Smokescreen gently poked the consciousness of the 'Con. _You need me. My programming. You were implanted... well... perhaps me showing you would be better?_

_You can do that?_

_I’m sure I can. Here._

A memory file was shoved into Barricade's thought processes, and he automatically played it.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

_He wasn't able to stop it. But frag it all if he just let it take over! He would hide himself in the program. Make sure there was still some of him alive. Something that could be saved._

_He aligned his personality matrix with the new matrix that was being pushed into his processor, allowing his to be changed slightly, but in return, changing what was being forced on him. He would barricade himself away, keep himself safely hidden within his own processor._

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

 _I only wanted to survive,_ Smokescreen said, feeling rather embarrassed. He shook the feeling off. It was his frame! His mind! He had tried to do what anyone would try to do, just as he had said; survive.

_I... Shockwave did this? He... That bastard! That sick, twisted, fragging glitch!_

Smokescreen startled, shocked. _What... you..._

_That... that's just sick._

_It's war,_ Smokescreen retorted. _The whole point is to get the upper hand, to defeat your enemy. By any means necessary._

Barricade just shook his helm, mentally and physically. He was in the privacy of his quarters. He could afford the odd gestures. _It's still wrong._

_You care about right and wrong?_

_When... when you're here, I do. When you aren't..._

With a mental sigh, Smokescreen gave himself a mental shake. _Well, let's work on that, shall we? I can teach you._

Thank you. But... what's your name? I can't just keep calling you “voice.”

Smokescreen chuckled. S _mokescreen. Autobot diversionary tactician and former owner of the spark and frame you inhabit._

_Barricade..._

_No “Decepticon” in there?_

_Not sure if there should be._

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Smokescreen returned to something similar to what he had been all those vorns ago, becoming an active presence in Barricade's mind. They were always talking. Barricade more than the Autobot tactician, but they kept each other company.

Barricade kept up his violent persona as well as he could, even if it wasn't as much as it had been. He didn't start as many brawls, and if he could, he avoided killing Autobots. It took a bit of work – the coding had been deeply ingrained in the three vorns. But Smokescreen had specialized in defragging coding before the war, and they kept at it. Slowly, ever so slowly, the coding untangled.

They existed peacefully together. Barricade learned from Smokescreen, pulling all he could from the mech's memories, which the tactician shared openly now.

 _Hey... Who's this?_ Barricade asked one day after watching a very old memory, one of Praxus, back when Smokescreen was still a youngling. _He looks familiar._

_Hm? Oh. Prowl._

_Prowl? As in, the mech all Decepticons fear?_

Smokescreen chuckled. _Yes, that Prowl. He's my brother. I..._

_You miss him._

_Of course. He's my brother._

_And I took you away from him._

_Shockwave, Barricade. Shockwave took me away. Not you. I... You... you're innocent of that._

Barricade just kept watching as the black and white youngling played with his younger brother, a little smile on his pale faceplates.

_Smokey?_

_Yes, 'Cade?_

_Do... Do you think there's any way I can get you back to that?_ The “and get something like that for myself” went unspoken, but they could both feel the Decepticon's yearning.

_I don't know, Barricade. I don't know._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le bunnies are crazy. But I've (barely) managed to keep up. :D

Chapter 5

Earth. Such a strange little planet. Its inhabitants were strange – insane, one might say, but strong all the same, especially for such a small, organic species. 

Barricade found himself respecting the little squishies. 

_It's not that strange. You are an Autobot at spark. You respect life, especially sentient life._

_True,_ he said to his voice, the presence that had kept him company for centivorns now. 

_Very true,_ Smokescreen said, pushing the sensation of a smile to his companion. _I am an Autobot. You are currently borrowing my spark. Therefore, you are using an Autobot's spark, and are an Autobot_ at _spark._

_Whatever._

At any rate, it was a beautiful planet, and the transmissions they were receiving, entirely of human origin, were strong enough that, if Smokescreen pulled up old memories, Barricade offlined his optics, and they ignored the organic context, it felt like they were back on Cybertron. 

They shared in the familiarity of it before they entered the atmosphere, hurdling down through the nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon dioxide and skipping across the hard surface of the ground a few times before coming to rest. 

Barricade transformed as Smokescreen scanned the internet, finding them a suitable alt mode. _Here,_ he said after a moment, downloading the schematics straight into the transformation protocols. 

A moment later, they were simply an innocent police car, driving toward, then away on, a nearby highway. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Are you username Ladiesman217?” Barricade demanded, slamming his hand down on the car next to where the cowering human boy lay. 

_Easy, 'Cade. Organics are fragile._

_I know. I’m being careful._

“Yeah...” the human whimpered. 

“Where are the glasses!?” Barricade roared. 

There was a loud screech, and the yellow Autobot ( _Bumblebee_ , Smokescreen whispered) careened into the strange, abandoned building. With another roar, Barricade was flung to the side, and the human scrambled away. 

_Fraggit, so close,_ Barricade cursed. 

Smokescreen sent him a soothing pulse. _Yes, but at least we know that he will be safe with the Autobots._

Barricade rumbled in agreement, though to Bumblebee, who he had just thrown off, it sounded more like a menacing growl. The yellow 'Bot scrambled away and transformed, and Barricade leapt after him. 

Dust suddenly clouded his optics and sensors, and he stumbled as he finally broke through the cloud. Then the Autobot was fishtailing beneath him, and his pedes were no longer touching the ground, and the humans were in the Autobot...

 _After them,_ Smokescreen prompted. 

_I know, I know. Keeping up appearances, and all,_ the Decepticon ex-program retorted, voice light, transformed, and took off after the Autobot. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

 _Well... that went well,_ Barricade grumbled as he tried to lift himself up, the little silver drone he carried skittering over his scrapped, sparking chassis. 

_Ha! You think? Good job not killing him, by the way._

_Hey. I haven't killed an Autobot in a long time. You don't have to keep worrying about me like that!_

_I’ll always worry, 'Cade. You're as much my creation as you are Shockwave's. More so, even._

_Good to know. Now... You know about repairing bots, don't you?_

Smokescreen just sighed. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Barricade avoided the battle. After watching Bonecrusher get crushed on the highway, he had held back, turning off on the next exit and taking the long way to Mission City. He arrived just in time to see the boy, LadiesMan217, Samuel Witwicky, shove the AllSpark into Megatron's chassis. 

_Time to go,_ Smokescreen said as Barricade lay optics on the flaming wreckage of the former Lord High Protector's chest. _Won't do to have the Autobots, or those humans, find us here._

_Agreed. Where should we go?_

Smokescreen sighed. _I'd say off planet, but..._

_We can't do that._

_No._

_So where?_

_I don't know._

Barricade glanced around, noting that things had suddenly gone quiet. Then he noticed that there were four bright, blue pairs of optics, and quite a few pairs of organic eyes, focused on him. _Um... that... might be... uh..._

_Oh, scrap._

_No duh._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These bunnies are very persistant. And very fun. :D

Chapter 6

_What do I do?_

_I... I... Surrender! Kneel, cross your wrists. Now!_

Barricade did so, slowly raising his hands, crossing them at the wrists, then lowering himself to his knees. The Autobots stared. Ratchet blinked, then went back to working on Jazz. Optimus Prime let out a gust of air through his vents and stepped forward. 

“Barricade, am I to understand that you are surrendering?”

Barricade dipped his helm. “Yes, sir.”

A few of the mechs blinked, and Samuel stuttered out a protest, something about “he tried to kill me!”

The Decepticon looked at the human, who was cowering behind Bumblebee's torn legs. “I did not try to kill you, human. My drone did more damage to you than I did.”

“I- um...”

Barricade blinked, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Then he looked back to the Autobots.

“Prime, I hereby renounce myself of any Decepticon affiliation and surrender to your authority and will. I have much to tell you. And your medic and saboteur, once Jazz has been repaired.”

“Wait, repaired?” one of the humans, one of the ones with a gun and heavy clothes shouted. “He's... he's torn in half!”

Barricade glanced over at him, and the man flinched. 

_Red optics. I think. They've associated blue with the good guys._

_Oh. Nothing I can do about that now._

_Not anything that wouldn't seem suspicious. I'd suggest looking down._

Barricade did so, bowing his helm and dimming his optics. His doorwings twitched as he felt the human shift, tensing slightly in surprise. 

“Uh... Optimus?” the human said, sounding unsure. 

Optimus vented again. “Barricade, I am unsure as to whether I can accept this. You are...”

Barricade snorted, and Smokescreen mentally rolled his optics. “If it makes you feel better, I swear on my spark to uphold the surrender.”

Four pairs of wide, surprised optics snapped back to him. The Prime cycled his vocalizer before he spoke. “Very well. Do you know any field repair?”

“Some, sir.”

“Then help Bumblebee.”

“What, you're just going to trust him? He's a _Decepticon!_ ” the armed human protested, and Samuel nodded frantically in agreement. 

The Prime knelt down, wise, blue optics focusing intently on the humans. “He swore on his spark, Lennox. He is... On Cybertron, someone who swears on their spark...”

Barricade stepped up and knelt down in front of Bumblebee. The yellow Autobot held back a flinch as the Decepticon went to work on untangling frayed wires and kinking leaking pipes, but made no move to stop him. Barricade snorted at the Prime's hesitation. “No need to be nice about it, Prime. I swore on my spark. Until my oath is fulfilled or you release me, my spark is yours. It's coding that goes spark deep,” he added for the humans, staring intently at a wire that had fused to the Autobot's leg armor. “You don't have to worry about me betraying you. I pretty much can't.”

They blinked, then looked back to the Prime. He nodded slowly, reluctantly. “It is true.”

_Big soft-spark. He doesn't know if he should be pleased that you surrendered, or frustrated that you gave up your “free will.” He hated it when he had to accept our oaths when he became Prime. And kinda funny if you think about it... our spark was already his. Technically speaking._

Once again, Barricade snorted, but he said nothing. He simply continued picking away at the mass of destroyed metal that was Bumblebee's legs. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The United States Government, unsure of what to do with the Autobots, had given them an old, abandoned hanger on the edge of Mission City. They assured the aliens that there would be somewhere else for them soon, it was just all so _sudden,_ and they didn't really have anywhere designated to house alien robots set up in advance. 

So the five Autobots, one of them still in stasis, their human allies, and Barricade went to the hanger and settled in for the night. The humans stayed as far away from Barricade as they could, but he couldn't fault them for that. 

The night passed quickly. Ratchet spent most of it working on Jazz. The other Autobots recharged in shifts, watching over each other and the humans. 

Barricade stayed online too, red optics dim as he sat quietly in his corner. 

It was about three in the morning when the Prime pinged his comms. 

::Yes, Prime?::

::Why did you do it?::

::What? Surrender?::

::Yes.::

::It is an explanation better left for when your medic and saboteur are available. But... I do have a valid reason.::

::No need t' wait... Ah'm online.::

::I am too. Get talking, Barricade.::

The Decepticon heaved a heavy vent. ::It... this will be hard to believe, but... I wasn't... always... Barricade.::

::What do you mean?::

::Well, I mean, _I've_ always been Barricade, but this frame wasn't always. I was... implanted. I was supposed to overwrite another mech. Only, he didn't... he didn't get overwritten. Not completely. Instead, he integrated the program – me – into himself. He survived, and made it so... well, I tried to ignore him, once. Tried to get rid of him. That's when I made a name for myself. I... Shockwave also downloaded a lot of violence and military protocols, and when I ignored, uh, the previous frame's owner, I fell into those. I...

::Eventually, I realized I still... needed him. So... Well, that was vorns ago. He's been teaching me since then, and... I haven't killed anyone I haven't needed to.::

The medic and Prime exchanged glances. ::So who was it you replaced?:: the Prime asked. 

_Come on! Don't they see the doorwings?_ Smokescreen whined, and Barricade had to snicker. 

The two sitting mechs glanced at him, and Jazz, who had been hooked back together, but was still missing a lot of armor around his middle, onlined his visor to shoot a curious glance at the black and white mech. 

Barricade, still smirking, twitched his doorwings. “I'll give you a hint. I was... he was one of the two Praxians you Autobots had.”

“Smokey?” Jazz asked, visor flickering as he blinked. “We thought ya were dead?”

“He isn't. He's still in here.” Barricade stopped for a moment and cocked his helm to the side. Then he grinned. “He says hi, Jazz, and Prime. And he asks that you don't smack me upside the helm, Ratchet, because he can feel it- Ow... too.”

The humans were up now, surprised awake by the loud clang Ratchet's wrench had made when it impacted against Barricade's helm. The black and white mech was sitting, rubbing a dent on his head, optics wide and innocent. 

Sam rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Nobody that... pointy... should be able to look so much like a kicked puppy.”

Barricade blinked, then started snickering, as did Lennox and Jazz. Sam blinked. “What? What- Oh! Uh... sorry?”

Barricade shook his helm. “It was funny. Anyways... I...” He turned back to the medic. “Ratchet, Smokescreen is... is still in here. And... We've tried. I can't let him out. I... Primus! I do... I mean, he's been there since I was... created... but...” He shuddered. 

_Barricade? What are you doing?_ Smokescreen asked, tone warning. Barricade didn't answer.

“I... I want... He was there first. Get rid of me. Take me out. Let Smokescreen have his frame back.”

_No! Barricade, you're just as much of a mech as me! No!_

Optimus reared back slightly, as did Ratchet. Sam, Lennox, the other humans, and Ironhide, who, up until then, had been recharging, blinked, confused. The black mech made to ask what was going on, but Optimus gestured him back. 

“Barricade, what about you?”

The black and white mech shrugged, doorwings twitching uneasily. “I don't care. But I was just a program before I... before.”

“But you aren't now.”

Again, he shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I want Smokescreen to have his frame back.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The humans glanced around. The Autobots were still. 

“You... would sacrifice yourself?”

Barricade shrugged. “I technically don't exist. I’m just a program. He's the real mech.”

 _YOU SLAGGER! YOU'RE A REAL MECH! YOU HAVE A FRAME! YOU HAVE A SPARK!_ Smokescreen shouted. 

Barricade flinched. 

“You are wrong,” a deep voice rumbled, and the Decepticon looked up. His gaze was met by the wize, infinitely old optics of the Prime. “You are a mech. No simple program would give itself up for a real mech. No program would rebel against its coding. Only a mech. Only someone with a spark and the will to live.”

“But that's the thing, Prime. My spark isn't _mine_. It's Smokescreen's.”

Optimus shook his helm. “Yet, you are still a mech.”

There was silence for a long time. Ironhide and the humans were confused, and very close to breaking the quiet to voice their questions, but it held all the same. The weight in the Prime's gaze rested heavily on them, keeping them back, keeping them quiet. 

Barricade bowed his helm, but said nothing. Optimus vented and sat back. “Ratchet, please explain to Ironhide what has happened. I will consult the Matrix.”

Ratchet's optics widened, then he nodded slowly. “Very well. We will keep watch.”

Optimus lay down, stretching his long frame out. His systems slowly wound down, some non-vital systems completely shutting down, others going into standby, others simply cycling down into a lower, power-saving mode. 

The silence prevailed. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

_You are a mech._

_No, I’m not. I’m a program in a borrowed frame and spark. I’m running off your emotional protocols, your core systems... Remember what happened when I tried to get rid of you? I lost myself. I was exactly what Shockwave had programmed me to be. I was... I was a machine, not a mech._

_That was a long time ago. You have grown since then. You have developed._

_How do you_ know _? How can you be sure?_

_'Cade, I was a psychologist before the war. You know this. I know a mech when I see one._

_Forgive me if I remain skeptical._

_If you were just a program, you couldn't be skeptical._

_Mute it. I told you. I’m running on your programs._

_I still believe you're a mech._

_It doesn't matter._

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Optimus came back online with a jolt, two days later, alone in the hangar save for Barricade and Ratchet, who was standing guard. Without saying a word, he motioned the medic closer and opened his medical dataport. Optics wide, Ratchet plugged in. After close to fifteen minutes, they separated. 

“Are you sure this will work?”

Optimus shrugged. “They told me they did this before the Quintessons. I do not know if it will work or not, but they said it would. However, the second part must wait until we have the materials. 

Ratchet nodded, then stepped toward Barricade, who was watching them both with wide optics. 

“Barricade,” the Prime rumbled, and the red optics snapped to him. “The Ancients gave me an answer. Do you know anything about our planet from before the Quintesson enslavement?”

“No, sir.”

“Hm. Not many do. The Quintessons were the ones to make the Cube. No one quite knows how, but they did. Before that, we reproduced in different ways.”

“I know that,” Barricade interrupted. “Sparking. It's how most Cybertronians are – were – still made. And how all of them will be made from now on.”

“Yes, that is one way.”

The Decepticon blinked. “What? There were... others? Other ways?”

Optimus nodded. “Ratchet would explain better than I, though. He has the information the Ancients gave me.”

An expectant set of red optics turned to the medic, who vented heavily. 

“In layman's terms, they would split a spark. Not like twins, but... Well, I should start from the beginning.” The medic vented again and ran a hand along the back of his helm. “A mech would download a second personality matrix and integrate it into themselves. From what I know, it would happen in a similar way as what happened to you, except for the most part, the original personality would retain control of the frame. 

“The implanted personality matrix would develop in the... the host's processors and spark. The process was much faster than any sparking, because the new matrix would have the other bot's memories and experiences to lean on. After it was deemed developed enough, the host would receive donations of spark energy from at least seven different mechs, as well as... well...”

Optimus chuckled. “The Prime would give the host spark a jolt with the Matrix. It is not sacrilegious to say it, Ratchet.”

The medic vented yet again. “I know. But that would jump-start the splitting process. The extra energies would be used to create a new spark from a small fraction of the host spark, and that new spark would be moved to a new frame. The developed matrix would be downloaded into the frame, along with any memories the host had decided to let the developed keep. And you'd have a new mech, much sooner than any sparkling would develop. It was basically the very start of the preprogrammed mecha.”

Barricade was staring. “So... this was...”

“It was, once, a commonly practiced way to create a new mech,” the Prime said as he slowly sat up. “As I said, Barricade, you are very much a real mech. All that remains is donating the spark energy and creating a new frame for you.”

Barricade practically fell against the wall, blinking rapidly. 

Ratchet, standing next to him, smiled. “There was one part I left out. The two personalities, while still in the same frame, were able to trade control. I may be able to help let Smokescreen to the forefront of your processor, if you let me plug in.”

“Please do,” Barricade murmured, offering his dataport. Ratchet clicked his cord into the plug at the base of the Decepticon's helm, and a moment later, the black and white frame stiffened. Ratchet unplugged and moved back. 

A klik later, Barricade relaxed again and sent an easy smile in the medic's direction. A familiar smile, one he hadn't seen in vorns. 

“Thanks, Ratch',” Smokescreen said as the red optics faded toward a muddy purple color. “'S good to finally be able to move again,” he murmured, lifting a hand and flexing it slowly. 

Barricade, watching from optics that no longer seemed to be his, smiled. _Now I know what your life has been like for the past few vorns._

_Yeah. Thanks, 'Cade._

_No problem, Smokey._

Smokescreen's smile widened. “Thank you, Prime. But... ehh... Now what?”

“We wait for more Autobots to come to Earth. I sent a signal before we came here. They will come. And you...”

Another wide grin, and the shared spark of the black and white mechs fluttered happily. “We'll have our own frames.”

“Yes. You will.”

Grins were exchanged all around, and the three mechs moved toward the door. They had a new base to see to.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Prowl, when he first saw Barricade, pulled a gun on him. “Jazz? Why is there a Decepticon on base?”

Jazz snickered. “He ain't a 'Con anymore, Prowler. Don' worry. Ah'll 'splain it all. Jus' get t' the Med Bay. Ratch's gotta clear you.”

The tactician slowly lowered the gun and allowed himself to be led away, but he never stopped staring at Barricade. 

The Decepticon, in turn, watched Prowl as he was led away, an unidentifiable emotion flaring in his optics. 

_My brother..._ Smokescreen murmured softly. _After everything has been explained-_

_Of course._

_Thank you. Now, let's follow and put those Decepticon sneaking skills to good use. I wanna see his face when he finds out that I’m still alive._

Barricade snickered as he melted into the shadows.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Barricade- Smokescreen – He's alive? My brother is alive?”

Jazz grinned as the tactician stumbled backwards and sat heavily on the edge of one of the berths in the Med Bay. “Yup. Surprised the heck outta us when he s'rendured. Now, we're jus' waitin' fer mechs t' come with supplies, so we can build 'Cade his own frame.”

Prowl nodded slowly. “Yes... You said it is possible to split a spark?”

“Yeah. Prime said 's how they used t' do it, way back a'fore the Quintessons.”

“Interesting. And Smokescreen...”

Barricade quickly retreated, allowing Smokescreen to the forefront of his processor. The Autobot dropped from the ceiling, landing heavily about ten feet from the tactician and the saboteur. 

“Is still here. Hey, bro.”

“S- Smokescreen?”

“The one and only.”

Prowl's optics widened, his doorwings twitching erratically. A moment later, he was falling backwards onto the berth, optics dark. 

_What happened?_ Barricade demanded, frantically pushing at Smokescreen. 

_He just crashed. Don't worry. It happens all the time._

_You're sure?_

_Very. See, look. He's waking back up._

As the formerly blue and red tactician had said, the newly arrived Autobot was indeed waking up. Doorwings twitched once, then golden optics onlined again. He blinked dazedly for a moment, then sat up, optics coming to rest on Smokescreen. 

“Smokes?”

“Prowl.”

A klik later, they were a pile of tangled black and white limbs on the hard, cement floor. Smokescreen was laughing, and Prowl was purring. Breems passed with the two cuddling on the floor before they picked themselves up again. 

Prowl cleared his intakes, embarrassed once they were back on their pedes, then shuffled awkwardly when Jazz tucked himself into his bondmate's side. “I am sorry, I-”

Smokescreen slid over to his other side and slung an arm over his brother's shoulders, avoiding the doorwings with ease, grinning happily. “'S good to see you too, bro.”

Prowl gave a faint smile, optics shining. “You as well. Though I apologize for my-”

“Nothing to apologize for, Prowl.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Slowly, steadily, more and more Autobots arrived on Earth. Most tried to shoot Barricade on sight and had to be talked down. Red Alert alone took close to six hours to be convinced, and even then, he only wound down when Barricade agreed to allow the Security Director to perform a full processor scan on himself. 

Years passed. The mechs and humans around base became quite adept at telling whether it was Smokescreen or Barricade in control of the black and white frame. 

Then, a new arrival. Or multiple. Word came that the _Arc_ would soon arrive in the solar system. There was a base-wide sense of happiness and success. Sparks lifted at the thought of seeing old comrades and friends again.

And Barricade and Smokescreen were saying their goodbyes. They would soon be placed in different frames, after all. No longer would they constantly have someone else in the back of their mind. They would be, finally, alone.

As much as they wanted that, there was a part deep down in each of them that hated the very thought of separating. They had been together, keeping each other company, for centivorns now. And these last few years, when Smokescreen and Barricade had been able to switch off, had been wonderful. Perfect. 

_Well,_ Smokescreen said to Barricade as they watched the _Arc_ come ever closer, its orange hull even brighter than normal with the heat of reentry. 

_Indeed,_ Barricade murmured, a hint of a smile shining through. _Thank you, Smokescreen, for teaching me. And for taking care of me. And for not hating me._

_It was no trouble at all. Well, the not-hating you part was a bit of trouble, but not much. You're actually very lovable, if you can get past the spiky armor._

_Hey! I resent that! I’m a big bad Decepticon, not some lovable teddy bear!_

_Whatever you say, 'Cade._

They broke in to snickers.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The _Arc_ landed with little fuss. Its massive hull simply settled easily into one of the sandy beaches of Diego Garcia and the mechs aboard straggled out. They had been able to establish comm links, and so already knew of Barricade and Smokescreen. First Aid and Wheeljack had even managed to complete Barricade's new frame, and had the _Arc's_ Med Bay prepped exactly as Ratchet had instructed them. 

After a day of celebrating and a night of recharging heavily, Ratchet called Barricade to his office. 

“Do you know who you're going to ask to donate spark energy?”

Barricade nodded. “I... I still need to ask them, though.”

Ratchet gave him a Look. “Please do so. Today. I'd like to perform the procedure soon. Your frame is ready, at any rate, and it would be good to get you into it soon.”

“Agreed,” Barricade said. “If... I’ll go ask now?”

Ratchet nodded, and the ex Decepticon smiled as he stood. “Would you be willing to donate, Ratchet?”

The medic blinked. “I... I suppose. If you're sure.”

“I am. We are.”

“Then of course. Now scat. I’ve got work to do.”

Barricade scatted.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

 

“Prowl?” 

“Yes, Barricade?” the tactician asked, looking up from his datapad, smiling faintly. In the time he had been on Earth, the former Decepticon had become just as much of a brother to him as Smokescreen. 

“I... we were wondering if...”

“You would like me to donate spark energy.”

“Uh... yeah.”

“And Jazz as well?” 

“If he's willing.”

Prowl smiled. “We have already discussed it. We are both willing. More than willing.”

 _Told you you wouldn't even have to ask him,_ Smokescreen said with a smirk, and Barricade gave him the mental equivalent of a friendly slap. 

_Oh, shut it._

Prowl set the stage for everyone else Barricade asked. Optimus Prime said he would before Barricade had even stammered out his greeting. Bumblebee gave his affirmative with thumbs up and a wide grin. Ironhide grumbled a bit, but did not hesitate when he agreed to donating spark energy. 

Then came the last mech. The only one Barricade wasn't so sure about. 

_It's okay,_ Smokescreen said as he cycled his vents and stood in front of the door. _If he says no, then we'll ask Silverbolt. Just as-_

::Barricade?:: Optimus Prime commed, sounding slightly amused. ::Red Alert is panicking. He says you've finally gone back to being a Decepticon, and are planning on killing him first. Any reason as to why?::

The former Decepticon hesitated, and Smokescreen gave him a gentle prod. ::I... I want to ask him to be my final donor. I’m... working up the courage to knock.::

::Ah. I see. Well, I can only offer one piece of advice; speak frankly, don't lie, and you should be fine.::

::Understood. Barricade out.::

::Good luck.::

::Thanks.::

The comm line clicked as it closed, and Barricade took one more heavy cycle of air through his vents before pinging Red Alert. 

::What do you want?::

::May I speak with you, Red Alert?::

::You're speaking now.::

Barricade vented, hiding a smile. ::Yeah, but... I want to ask you something, and it'd be better if I asked you face to face.::

::... Fine. Come in, but don't touch anything!::

The door hissed open and Barricade stepped inside the Security Director's lair. It was dark, save for the flickering monitors stacked against one wall. Red Alert was sitting in his swivel chair, facing the door, no more than a silhouette outlined in flickering light. 

“What do you want, Barricade?”

_Remember, speak frankly._

_Not helping, Smokey._

“I... I want you to be one of my spark energy donors. I already have six others.”

Red Alert's optics, two icy blue slashes of light, narrowed. “Who else have you chosen and why?”

“Prowl and Jazz, because Prowl is my – Smokey's – brother, and they're both smart, honest, loyal... Traits I want for myself. Optimus Prime because he's... well, he's the Prime. Ratchet, because he's strong and he's... he's been through so much, but he still keeps going. Ironhide for the same reason. Bumblebee, because he's always friendly and never has any enemies.”

“And myself?”

Barricade smiled. “As nice and strong as I want to be, I also want to know when to mute my vocalizer. I... I want to always be wary – perhaps not as much as you,” he said with a friendly smile, “but... enough to keep myself alive.”

Red Alert sighed. “You present a convincing argument. What will you do if I decline?”

“Ask Silverbolt.”

“Why?”

Barricade shook his helm. “Really only two reasons; one, as much trouble as his team gives him, he always manages to keep calm, and two, he's got a little bit of Seeker coding. I’m Praxian, so... that wouldn't hurt.”

“Yet, you still choose me over him.”

The ex-Decepticon nodded, but said nothing. Red Alert sat, thinking, for a long, long moment before he nodded. “Very well. I will do it. But not while you're in the room.”

“Thank you, Red,” Barricade said, smiling widely. The Security Director shuddered and waved toward the door. Obligingly, the black and white left the room. 

::Ratchet?::

::Ratchet here.::

::I've got my donors.::

::Good. We'll get you separated tomorrow, then.::


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Smokescreen lay nervously on the Med Berth. All seven mechs he had chosen had already donated their spark energy. But that had been the easy part. 

Now, they had to get the energy into his spark, Optimus had to, to use Ratchet's words, “jump-start” it, they had to move the split portion of his spark into the new frame, then download Barricade's personality matrix and memories into the frame. 

The process was actually rather simple – the spark energy infusion would be the same as any other, and Ratchet had performed many of them in his time as a medic in wartime. Optimus had said that the jump-start pretty much entitled him holding the Matrix over his spark, and it would do the rest. Transferring the spark and Barricade would be exactly the same as any other transfer – something, again, that Ratchet had done plenty of times. 

The process was simple. That didn't make it easy. One wrong move on any of their parts could result in the extinguishing of both of the mechs under the knife. 

The two mechs in the one frame would have asked if the other was sure, but they both knew it. They both knew it was long past time for Barricade to have his own frame. And so they willingly lay down on the berth and gave Ratchet access to all their motor controls. 

A moment later, they were unconscious, and the work began. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Barricade woke slowly, optics flickering, processor slowly, ever so slowly, booting up. He no longer had the Decepticon overrides, he realized. He couldn't just jolt himself awake like before. 

_Never thought I'd miss any of that coding, eh, Smokey? … Smokey?_

His vents stuttered as he realized just how alone he was. Nobody in his mind. Nobody there, talking to him. It was so... quiet. 

The faint sense of fear yanked him into the world of the waking, and he sat up with a gasp. 

Someone chuckled, and when he looked over, he saw... himself. Only not. Ratchet had obviously modified their previously shared frame. The spiky edges were gone, the red-purple optics were back to blue, and the colors... Familiar, yet odd at the same time. Blue and red and a yellow-gold chevron. The doorwings were broader than before – a new alt mode, he decided – and instead of the old Decepticon/police mark, he wore a dark, heavy number “38.” The not-him was sitting on the edge of his berth, smiling. 

“Smokescreen,” he said, vocalizer hitching. His voice was smoother now. Not so scratchy and menacing. Even, kind. A voice you could trust. 

“'Cade. Nice to see you awake. It's been a while.”

Glancing at his chrono, Barricade twitched (and noticed his doorwings seemed heavier than before in the process). “Five days?”

“Yeah. Ratch said it might be a while though, remember. Everything had to get integrated.”

“Right.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, staring at anything but each other. Then Smokescreen turned a wry grin on the younger mech. “Wanna see yourself? Ratchet said you could get up once you woke up, and... I know you've seen the frame, but... well, your colors have come in, and it wasn't really _you_ before, you know?”

“Yeah. If it's alright, I'd like to.”

The red and blue Praxian leaned forward and wrapped his arm around the other mech's shoulders, easily supporting his weight. They stood together, slowly, as Barricade got used to his new legs. They were the same length, same size, but... there was something different. 

By the time they got to the huge mirror installed on one wall of the _Arc's_ Med Bay, Barricade had a better hold on his systems and was walking on his own. They stopped in front of the polished metal, and Barricade stared. 

He was the same... but different. His plating was no longer black and white, but gray and red. His sharp edges had been dulled down, rounded out. His optics were a cheery, bright blue, crowned by a red chevron. His doorwings were wider, like Smokescreen's, but not by much, and carried no decal. 

Smokescreen, who was still standing beside him, grinned. “How do you like it?”

“It's good. Different, but... good.”

“Good,” a deeper voice rumbled, and Barricade whirled around, doorwings twitching. Ratchet. 

The former Decepticon shot a sideways glance at Smokescreen. “I do think I might have to recalibrate my doorwing sensors, though, 'cause they seem a bit... weird.”

“Heh. Yeah, I had to recalibrate mine, too.”

Ratchet shook his head. “Other than that?”

“Everything's good. Better than, actually. My doorwings are bigger, which will take getting used to, and my frame feels just a bit weird, but that's all normal, if what I’ve read about frame transfers is right, and I shouldn't be worried about any of that – not that I am worried. But yeah. I feel fine.”

Smokescreen blinked. Ratchet just shook his helm. “Right. Now, get outta my Med Bay. Prowl said you could stay with him and Jazz if you wanted, and Smokescreen offered as well.”

Barricade nodded and turned to the mech he had once been inhabiting the processor of. “I'd like to stay with you, if that's okay, but I would like to go see Prowl and Jazz sometime soon. And Optimus Prime, and Bumblebee, and Sam and Mikaela and Daniel, and Will and Annabelle, and Red Alert, and Ironhide... Well, I guess everyone.”

Smokescreen chuckled. “Alright then, let's go. Everyone wants to see you, too.”

Barricade smiled and followed as Smokescreen led the way out of the Med Bay. 

They wandered down the halls, stopped frequently by anyone they passed. Optimus Prime, Jazz, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Blades and Streetwise, Hound, Ironhide, Trailbreaker, Fireflight; all of them stopped to say hi, finally able to do so to both of the mechs at the same time. 

They came across the first humans when they arrived at the Rec Room. 

“I'm just saying!” Sam was protesting, looking defensive, while the other two humans, Will and Mikaela, were giving him strange looks. “Barricade is in a new frame now. It's like he's just been born! Sort of. A baby shower would be- Ooh, hey, guys!”

Barricade was pouting, and Smokescreen was snickering uncontrollably. “Baby shower, Sam?” he asked, optics wide. “I'm centivorns older than you! Even if I was just put in a frame, and that would be the birth of a preprogrammed mech, I’ve still been alive, and aware, and it's just that now, I’m in my own frame, and- What?”

“When did you get so chatty?” Sam asked, smile growing on his face. 

Barricade blinked and cocked his helm to the side. “You know, I don't know. I... I just...”

“If I may cut in, I believe I know,” Smokescreen said, patting the gray and red mech on the shoulder. “Your whole life, you had me for company. Now, you're all alone in here.” He rapped a knuckle against the gray helm, and Barricade blinked. “We talked a lot. Now you've gotta fill up the silence.”

Barricade blinked again. “You know, that might be it. It's... quiet, and it shouldn't be, I think, so...”

“Yup. Psychologist, remember?”

Rolling his optics, the gray and red mech smacked his former frame-mate upside the helm.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Barricade regarded the gun in his hand with a skeptical look, then glanced back to Ironhide. “What's the purpose of this, again? You did this when Smokey and I first came, and I really don't see the point of testing me again.”

“We've gotta reassess your abilities. They'll be different, without the 'Con programming. I mean, you've still got the combat training in your memories, and the combat programming, but it's different now.”

The gray and red mech blinked, then twitched his doorwings in a shrug. “If you say so. I still don't get it, but I guess I don't mind going a few rounds. I’m ready when you are, so if you want to start it-”

“Okay, okay, enough. Ready in three, two, one-”

Barricade was immediately focused, face blank as he raised the rifle and let of a quick series of blasts. Five kliks after the sequence started, he lowered the rifle and glanced back at Ironhide. 

“Whoa, you take any time to aim?”

“Yeah, I took a lot of time to aim. I got all bulls-eyes.”

“What? That's impossi- What the frag?”

Barricade shrugged, smirking. “Must have gotten something from you I didn't count on getting.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The former Decepticon shook off a feeling of wariness as he stood, once again, in front of Red Alert's door. Unlike the last time, he didn't have Smokescreen to encourage him. And he had been summoned, this time. 

He jumped as the door hissed open, and Red Alert's silhouette was once again visible, highlighted by the flickering light of the monitors.

“Barricade. Come in, please. Sit.”

Barricade did so. “You wanted me, sir?”

The small smile was barely visible against the shadowed faceplates. “Yes. I heard you talking to Prowl the other day, when you said you were thinking about changing your designation.”

Barricade shifted nervously, pedes shuffling against the ground and doorwings flicking against the back of the chair. “Yeah, I... Barricade was a Decepticon. I’m not him anymore, I’m someone else, and I want everyone to know. I mean, everyone on base already does, but, but I don't... I want to be someone else.”

“I can understand that. I am also willing to help you change your records, when you choose a new name.”

“Really? Because that would be great! I mean, I thought you wouldn't want me to, but that's awesome! And I actually do have a designation. Something Sam said the other day, actually, because I was talking a lot, and he said-”

“Have you talked to Optimus Prime about changing your name?”

“Yeah, he said it was fine once I had one. And anyways, I think I like it, so-”

“Mech! I need to know the name if I’m going to change the records.”

“Oh! Right! Well, I was talking a lot, and Sam said that I was talking a blue-streak, and I think I like that. I want to be called Bluestreak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil, I know. Don't hurt me!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll tell you, when the bunnies bite, they bite _hard_.

Chapter 10

“Bluestreak, huh?” Smokescreen asked as he sat down next to the gray and red mech. 

The newly dubbed Bluestreak nodded happily. “Yup! I thought it fit, what with my talking so much, and it starts with the same sound, at least in English, and I liked it, so...”

“I'm glad. It'll take some getting used to, but... I like it, too,” the red and blue mech said with a smile. The two exchanged grins, and Smokescreen lifted his energon cube and took a drink. “You know this means that everyone coming in will... well, think...”

“What? That I’m a neutral or something? Or was? To be honest, Smokey, I don't care. I mean, that's... kinda better than the truth. I told you. I don't want to be Barricade anymore. I don't... I don't like who he was. I’m Bluestreak.”

“I know. Autobot, sniper... Just stay away from the front lines. I... You've got retractable claws, like all Praxians now, and... well, Barricade's fighting style was very... distinct.”

Bluestreak smiled gently, doorwings flicking in agreement. “I know. And trust me, I will. I prefer fighting from behind a gun. Anyways... did you hear? Two new arrivals today! Prowl's not sure who it is, or so he said, but they'll be landing sometime tonight.”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen said, taking another long pull of energon. “I have a sneaking suspicion, though. There are very few mechs who feel confident enough to travel in pairs. It's either alone, or in a small group.”

“Why's that? Oh, wait, wait, I know this – because one mech is hard to spot, and a group is hard to attack, but two mechs is easy to spot and easy to attack?”

“Right. Good job.”

Bluestreak rolled his optics. “Yeah, right. It's one of those lessons they, uh, pound into you. And something you should know when you're, um, a shock trooper. Like I was.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyways, you going to greet them?”

Bluestreak tilted his helm to the side. “I think I will. I mean, why not?”

Smokescreen smiled and drained the last of the energon in hid cube. “Why not indeed?”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

They waited on the shore, all seven of them. Optimus Prime stood in the lead, with Prowl and Jazz flanking him. Ratchet and Ironhide stood a ways behind, and Smokescreen and Bluestreak stood behind them. 

Prowl frowned. “I'm picking up more than two signatures. I think...”

Optimus glanced at his Second. “You think...?” he prompted, raising an optic ridge. 

Prowl stood stock still for a moment, save for his doorwings, which twitched erratically. Smokescreen and Bluestreak twitched theirs as well, trying to pick up what the tactician was obviously reading. 

“Decepticons!” Prowl hissed after another klik, just as two flaming meteorites – the arriving Autobots – appeared on the horizon. 

“What? I thought they were Autobots!” Bluestreak protested as Smokescreen yanked him back. 

“They are!” the blue and red Praxian hissed into his audio as he flattened both of them to the ground. “There are 'Cons following them!”

“Oh. Then I should get my gun out?”

“Yes!”

Bluestreak smiled mischievously as he unsubspaced his rifle and scooted backwards, tucking himself behind a small hillock. The other Autobots did the same, hiding themselves. A moment later, the two Autobots crashed to the ground, dirt spraying up around them. They transformed quickly, red and yellow armor replacing the dark gray-black armor of the entry-pod form. 

“Primus slaggit!” one of them, the yellow one, cursed. “My paint is ruined!”

“Forget your fragging paint! Last time I got a reading there were ten on our tails, bro! It's gonna get worse!”

“Fragging Primus on a pogo stick!”

“... Learning from Ironhide, are we?”

“Mute it.”

The red mech snickered, then sobered rapidly as five, then eight, then twelve more flaming meteorites appeared in the darkening sky. 

“Ten, Sides?”

“Last I counted. Looks like they called in backup. And- hey!”

Bluestreak peeked over the hill to see Optimus, Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz striding forward. “It looks,” the Prime began, smiling, “that you called in some backup as well.”

::Blue?::

::Yeah, Smokes?::

::You ready?::

::More than.::

The comm line quieted, and Bluestreak took one more long intake as his gun settled easily into his hands. His doorwings spread flat, parallel to the ground, barely hovering above the grass. Vibrations transferred through the dirt were easily picked up and read, giving the sniper a much easier time following the mechs on the battlefield. Or what would soon become the battlefield. 

The Prime talked for a moment with the newly arrived 'Bots before they ducked to the side to avoid the incoming 'Cons. Twelve sprays of dirt and torn vegetation flew through the air, and the mechanical whirring of transformations echoed through the clearing. 

::Time to go to work,:: Bluestreak muttered over his comm link with Smokescreen. The diversionary tactician didn't answer, but the gray and red mech hadn't expected a response. 

A moment later, the first 'Con stood up, and Bluestreak let off his first shot. The Decepticon went down in a spray of his own fluids; the shot had hit him square in the helm, burning through his processors and offlining him instantly. He would be dead in a breem. 

A second 'Con stood, and was instantly tackled by the red mech. The next mech to stand was similarly attacked by the yellow Autobot, and the subsequent Decepticons who stood were engaged by the other four Autobots. 

Bluestreak grinned. That was seven either taken out or otherwise engaged. That left five left for him. 

Everything in him stilled. His fans slowed, His processors focused only on the targeting systems he had installed and the instinctive parts of his coding that seemed dedicated to shooting. His attention was riveted on the 'Cons. 

Everything froze as another Decepticon stood. His finger tightened on the trigger – an old fashioned method of shooting (most guns were integrated into a bot's arm, nowadays), but the one he favored – and the gun went off. The plasma bolt, glowing hot, slammed into the mech's neck, right between his helm and his chassis armor, and he went down hard. 

Next target. 

A taller bot, this time. Thinner armor. Finger tightened. Plasma bolt to the chassis. He was down. 

Next target. 

Heavier. Thick armor. Aim for gaps. There; where his arm connected. Gap when he lifted the arm to shoot. Tighten finger. Shoot. 

The mech reeled back, clutching the damaged arm, which was dangling limply from his side, most of the tension wires in the shoulder burned through. There; chink in the armor where it met his abdominal plating. Shoot; hit.

He went down. 

Next target.

Fighting with the red bot. Too tangled together to hit. Come back later.

Next target. 

A host. One symbiote, already slinking off to the side. Take out host, symbiote crippled and easily killed. Weaker armor over spark, hollow spot for storing symbiote. Pull trigger. Shoot. 

Host down, symbiote crying. Tighten finger. Plasma bolt through the bottom of the jaw, into the processor. Host dead, symbiote dead. 

Next target. 

Tall, thick red and blue armor. Built for fighting. Familiar frame. Tighten finger.

Bluestreak gasped and jerked back, practically dropped the gun, realizing who he had been aiming at, and glanced around. The last 'Con dropped under the combined force of the new arrivals. 

Intakes heaving, the gray and red Praxian slowly subspaced his gun. 

“Hey! Which sniper is here?” one of the new arrivals asked, examining one of the 'Cons Bluestreak had shot. 

“Perceptor?” the red one asked, examining the pinpoint accuracy of the shots. 

“No,” Smokescreen said as he ducked out from the brush he had been sheltering behind, blaster integrating back into his arm. “Not Percy. He's not on Earth yet.”

“Prowl was fighting with us... Mirage?”

“Nope. He's still back at th' base,” Jazz said, grinning. ::Hey, li'l boy Blue, stay back fer a sec.::

::Okay?:: the gray gunner said hesitantly, still trying to settle his processors. He had almost shot Prime. 

“Umm... Streetwise?”

“Nope.”

“Who else... Hound?”

“Wrong again.”

The two exchanged glances, then scanned the area around them. Bluestreak pressed himself deeper into the ground as their gazes skimmed over his hill. 

“Well, who is it? I can't think of anyone else. Well, anyone else who isn't confirmed dead.”

“Hey, Bluestreak? Wanna come out?”

The gray mech pulled up a smile as he stood, genuinely amused by the puzzled, startled looks on the two new mechs' faces. “Hello!” he said cheerily, waving. “My name's Bluestreak. But you already knew that, 'cause Smokes called me by it. I don't know who you are, though. Oh, right, I should tell you that I’m new. You wouldn't have met me before. Which would make sense, 'cause we don't know each other, and-”

“Enough, Blue,” Prowl said with a small smile. “Bluestreak, these are the Twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, this is Bluestreak.”

“I can see why he's called that,” the red mech said thoughtfully, a smirk spreading over his face. “Praxian, eh? You a neutral or something?”

Bluestreak shifted from pede to pede, glancing at Prowl. “Uh...”

Sideswipe raised an optic ridge. “Cat got your glossa? What happened to 'Bluestreak'?”

“I'd... really rather not talk about it.”

The Twins exchanged a glance. “Understood,” Sunstreaker said with a nod. “Now, what about this base we've been hearing about? Because I really need to visit the washracks.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

~That sniper. Bluestreak,~ Sunstreaker murmured to his brother across their bond as they drove for the C-17 that would take them to Diego Garcia. 

~What about him?~

~Where does he come from? I mean... a neutral, here, on Earth? It just doesn't make sense.~

~Well, what else does?~

~I'm not sure. But there's something about him...~

Sideswipe, had he been in bipedal mode, would have cast his brother a dry look. And he would have rolled his optics. 

~I'm serious, Sides!~ Sunstreaker protested, engine rumbling lowly. ~He's... Well... I mean, I guess I like him and all. He did take out, like, five 'Cons, but... He seems familiar.~

~He does look like Smokescreen. And Prowl. Could he be their brother or something?~

~I guess. Maybe? But they've never mentioned him. And hey... wasn't Smokey confirmed dead?~

~No, just Missing in Action. His frame was never found.~

~Right. Huh. Weird. Did he have a creation?~

~... Sunny? Are you feeling okay? Should we maybe have Ratchet check your processor when we get to base?~

~Stop it, I’m fine! I’m just throwing out possible theories. Bluestreak did call him “Smokes,” and I’ve only ever heard Prowl call him that before.~

~True. I'd go with “long-lost brother.”~

~Yeah, seems most likely. Ugh. This planet is gross. You're helping me in the washracks when we get to base.~

~What? Clean your own frame!~

~... I’ll help you with a prank.~

~... Okay, fine. Deal.~

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

::Hey, Smokes?::

::Yeah, Blue?::

::I think the Twins suspect something. Everyone on base knows not to mention me being Barricade, right?::

::I'm sure. Everyone knows you wanna put that behind you.::

::Good. And Red Alert removed all records, and Ratchet changed my name in all his documents... I hope they don't find anything... After everything I’ve heard about them, I really, really don't want them finding out I was a 'Con.::

Smokescreen shuddered. ::No, I can understand that. Frag, we thought Red Alert was hard to handle...:: There was a lull in the conversation, then Smokescreen spoke again. ::Hey, Blue, if they ever do... find out... and they start bugging you... let me and Prowl know. You know we'd help, right?::

::Of course, Smokes.::

The miles passed quickly under their tires. A few hours later, they were back at base.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Bluestreak was lounging in one of the huge couches in the Rec Room, talking to Sam, when the Twins strode in. They exchanged a grin and moved over to the couch, flinging themselves down on either side of the gunner, making the gray mech yelp. Sam, who was sitting cross-legged on the “coffee” table in front of the couch snickered. 

“Hey, Blue!” Sideswipe cheered. “We were just thinking, you're new, you know, so we should get to know you! You know?”

“Sides. Mute it. But like my idiot bro was saying, we thought we should take some time to meet our newest... Autobot?”

Bluestreak stiffened, doorwings thumping against the back of the padded seat. “Right.”

Sideswipe frowned. “What? You don't like us?”

“I don't like our current topic of discussion.”

Sam's easygoing smile was slowly easing into a frown.

“What? You aren't happy as an Autobot?”

“I'm very happy as an Autobot.”

“So what don't you want to talk about?”

Bluestreak scowled and remained silent. Sam pushed himself to his feet. “Hey, lay off him. He's got reasons for keeping quiet. Not everyone is... happy with their pasts.”

Sunstreaker glanced at his brother, then looked back at the human. Sideswipe's frown turned thoughtful. 

For a long moment, the Twins stared at the human man. Then they stared at each other, then they nodded. 

“Alright. We can understand that. I... we're sorry. Let's... start over?”

Bluestreak nodded stiffly, and Sideswipe grinned. 

“Hey. I’m Sideswipe. Autobot frontliner and prankster. This is my twin, Sunny. Autobot frontliner and psychopath.”

“Don't call me that. And I’m not a psychopath!”

“Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

The yellow Twin rumbled lowly, and Bluestreak pressed himself into the couch. Sunstreaker, noticing Bluestreak's backwards movement, leaned back and forced his engine to settle. “Sorry.”

“It's... it's alright.”

“What the frag is going on here?” a smooth tenor growled, and the Twins jerked around to stare at the door. Smokescreen was standing just inside the Rec Room, doorwings splayed, engine rumbling threateningly. 

Bluestreak hurriedly stood up and rushed around the couch, standing in front of the Twins. “They were just apologizing, Smokes. It's fine. I’ve got it.”

“Apologizing for what, Blue?”

Another glance was exchanged between the Twins, and they easily vaulted over the back of the couch, stepping up to flank the gunner. “We were... unnecessarily... harsh,” Sunstreaker muttered. 

“And... well, Prowl always says we're too inquisitive for our own good. We are sorry, Bluestreak. You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to,” Sideswipe added, shooting Smokescreen an easygoing grin. 

“I know,” the gunner said confidently, smirking in a decidedly evil way. “But thank you all the same. Anyways... You introduced yourselves, but I never got the chance. Bluestreak, Autobot sniper and Smokescreen and Prowl's... brother.”

“Ha! I told you, Sunny!”

“Don't call me that. And I never said he wasn't!”

Smokescreen was blinking rapidly. “Okay, um, I’m just gonna go now. You two be nice, and Blue, comm me if you... need me.”

“I doubt I will, Smokes, but okay.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Time passed quickly. More Autobots arrived. Mikaela and Sam had another child, a young girl they named Ariel. She was the bane of her brother Daniel's existence. The Decepticons attacked regularly, and the Autobots kept up a constant duty rotation so that someone was always on call to attack. 

The Twins kept their promise, and didn't dig much into Bluestreak's history. Even if they had, though, they wouldn't have found anything. 

Instead, they made friends with him. At first, it was simple curiosity. After those initial first days, he talked as much around them as he did anyone. They were sure he'd let something slip eventually, and so started spending time with him.

They were amazed, though, when they really listened, because, despite the amount of words that spilled from his vocalizer, he said surprisingly little. He could chatter on and on for hours without interruption and not actually _say_ a single thing. 

But even as they spent time listening to him chatter on and on, trying to pick out details of his rather obscure past, they found that they genuinely enjoyed his company. If someone else was talking, he would stop and listen. But if nothing was being said, he would fill up the silence with friendly babbling. 

And he watched their backs in battle, better than anyone had before. He never missed, never accidentally hit them, and always knew who he had to take out and who they already had handled. 

They were a deadly team.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Bluestreak's finger slowly tightened on the trigger, and another 'Con, the one who had been trying to sneak up behind the Twins, fell. 

::Thanks!:: Sideswipe grunted as he landed another punch on the midsection of the Decepticon in front of him, having heard the sharp crack of the gun, even if he hadn't seen who had fallen. 

::No problem. 'Con on your seven, Sunny.::

::Don't! Call! Me! That!:: the yellow frontliner growled as he clawed at a blue 'Con, ripping off armor and internals with each word, then whirled to attack the Decepticon the gunner had pointed out. 

Bluestreak just smiled faintly and turned his gun, searching for another target. 

Wait. 

Vibrations...

Too close. Someone coming up behind him!

With a growl, he dropped the gun and stood, whirling around to tackle the mech sneaking up on him. 

The Decepticon's optics flared and his armor clamped shut in surprise. Bluestreak barely registered that as his claws extended. With a snarl, he tore into the mech, swiping and ripping through armor, wires, and tubing. 

::Bluestreak? Blue!:: one of the Twins, or maybe both of them, he wasn't really sure, called over the comm. 

Bluestreak just snarled as he froze, poised with his energon-stained claws hovering over the Decepticon's barely covered spark chamber. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Sunstreaker saw the flurry of movement from the corner of his optics. With a growl, he tore the helm off his current opponent and whirled around. Where had it...? The hill. Bluestreak. 

~Sides!~

::Bluestreak!:: the red Twin called, easily disposed of the mech he was – had been – fighting. 

::Blue!::

As one, red and yellow raced up the hill, catapulting themselves over it, ready to tear into the mech that had injured Bluestreak-

Only to find the gray gunner crouched, cat-like, on top of the Decepticon's chassis, armor, wires, and energon spattered on the ground around them, deadly sharp claws ripping into the Decepticon's spark chamber. 

There was a flicker as the spark was torn from the 'Con's chest, and Bluestreak sat back. 

“Wha-?” Sideswipe started, blinking rapidly, and Bluestreak whirled around, claws extended again. 

A tense moment passed as they all remained frozen in place. Then the gunner slowly lowered his hands and stood up, movements fluid and easy. He said nothing as he moved back up the hill toward his gun, picked it up, and turned back around. 

“You weren't supposed to see that,” he said quietly as he stopped, still a ways away from the Twins. They just stared at him. 

~Damn, Sunny... Dunno if I woulda said this before, but... Li'l Boy Blue looks _good_ ~

~Yeah. Never knew he could fight like that.~

~What, and you think I did? Frag...~

Bluestreak stood in front of them, gun held comfortably, pointed at the sky. His doorwings flared wide behind his back, twitching and vibrating. His optics were unnaturally bright, closer to white than blue. His armor was spattered with energon. 

“Frag, Blue,” Sideswipe managed, optics wide. 

The gray gunner shook his helm, doorwings twitching, and turned. The Twins watched, still stunned, as he stalked down the hill, away from them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I wanted to post it.

Chapter 12

“They saw me, Smokes! They _saw me!_ ” Bluestreak hissed as he launched himself into his brother's arms. 

Smokescreen stumbled backwards, automatically wrapping his arms around the gray gunner. He let Bluestreak babble for a moment before he smoothed his hands over the gunner's doorwings. “Easy, Blue. What happened? Who saw you?”

“The Twins! A Decepticon was sneaking up on me, and something just sorta took over, and I kinda killed him, and the Twins saw me!”

“Okay, okay. How much did they see?”

“I don't know! They were just there, and they were staring, and-”

“What did they say?”

“Just 'frag', and then they stared, and... Oh, Smokes, it was awful!”

Smokescreen vented and kept moving his hands over the trembling doorwings. “Shh, shh, it's okay. It'll be okay. Calm down. It'll be alright...”

Bluestreak stayed cuddled up next to his brother, doorwings trembling and twitching, vents coming unevenly. After a few minutes, he pulled away slightly. “I know. I know that even if... if they don't... don't like me anymore... If they know...”

“I'll always be here, Blue. So will Prowl. And we will _never_ let them hurt you.”

Bluestreak snorted. “I'd put up a fight, you know. I _can_ protect myself.”

Smokescreen smiled softly. “I know. I’m just saying, we'll be there to back you up.”

“I know.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Sunstreaker jumped when Bluestreak suddenly appeared in front of him. Sideswipe yelped. 

“Hey... I... I wanted to talk to you.”

Sideswipe raised an optic ridge. “Okay. When has that ever been a problem?”

“It...” Bluestreak shifted nervously. “I... That was... before.”

“Before what, Blue?” Sunstreaker asked, stepping forward. Bluestreak stepped back, and the yellow Twin froze. The gray gunner looked... scared. “Blue? What's wrong?”

“What did you see?”

“Huh?”

“That... yesterday. What did you see?”

“You ripped out a 'Con's spark, and you looked pretty hot doing it, too,” Sideswipe said with a disarming grin. Bluestreak flinched. 

“That's... that's it?”

“Was there something else we were supposed to see?”

“I... no. You weren't even supposed to see that. I... no, there was nothing else. And... 'hot'?”

“Yup,” Sideswipe cheered, grin widening. “You look good normally, but all spattered with energon and looking so tough...”

“In case you hadn't noticed,” Sunstreaker cut in, “my brother likes a bot who can fight. I do too, for that matter.”

“True, that,” Sideswipe agreed, looking thoughtful. “Speaking of which, we were wondering if you'd like to spar with us sometime?”

Bluestreak's optics widened and he stepped back. “No. No, I don't want to spar. No.”

The Twins exchanged a glance, simultaneously stepping back. “Hey, hey,” Sideswipe said, voice soft. “You don't have to if you don't want to. It was just a suggestion.”

Bluestreak relaxed, though his doorwings remained rather tense. “Yeah... yeah. Okay. Um... Sam said he got a new movie the other day. Want to see if he wants to watch it with us?”

“Sure!”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

~He's hiding something, Sunny, I just know it!~

~Sides, it doesn't take a genius to see it. He was really scared when we asked him. Why?~

~I don't know, but I’m going to find out.~

~Sides...~

~Don't worry, Sunshine. I’ll be careful.~

~Don't hurt him, Sideswipe. Don't...~

~I know.~


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

“You're serious? There was nothing?”

“Nothing at all. Not a bit of what we didn't already know. He joined up about ten years ago, registered as Smokescreen and Prowl's brother. Other than that, his history is blank. Empty. Nothing.”

Sunstreaker frowned at his computer screen where the information Sideswipe had managed to track down. It was, at best, minimal. Exactly what his Twin had said. “You're sure? There's nothing at all about before he joined?”

“Not a single fragging thing! It makes no sense! How could he not exist at all?”

“... Unless he did? And... Red Alert was here. He's... he's the one with all access to the records. Besides Ratchet, but if they were in cahoots...”

“Cahoots? Really? But... you have a point.” Sideswipe tilted his helm to the side, frowning, like his brother, at the screen. “Hey, he seemed really... adamant about not sparring. And... he was nervous about us having seen him...”

“Training room records.”

“Mech, you read my mind.”

“Duh. Twins, remember?”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The security tapes of the training rooms were actually incredibly easy to find and access. They were available to anyone who had the codes. 

Finding a video of Bluestreak was a little more difficult. He used the rooms as often as anyone else, but about half the time he spent meditating with either Prowl or Smokescreen. The rest of the time was spent on the firing range. 

Yet, the Twins spent hours pouring over the footage, seeking just one instance of him sparring with someone. 

And finally, they found it. 

“Yes!” Sideswipe cheered, pausing the vid-feed on his screen, freezing the small image of the gray gunner and his opponent, Smokescreen. “Sunny. Found it!”

Sunstreaker wheeled his chair over to his brother's monitor. “Play it.”

Sideswipe did as asked, clicking the correct button and settling back to watch. A moment later, he was leaning forward, staring with wide optics at the screen. For both Smokescreen and Bluestreak were attacking each other viciously, claws outstretched, faces contorted in snarls. They tore into each other, talons ripping through armor and wires and tubes. Energon spattered on and around them, though neither faltered in their attack. 

And it looked... familiar. 

Sunstreaker was the first to get it. “They look like Barricade. Both of them.”

Sideswipe frowned. “They do. What the frag?”

The video ended shortly, with Ratchet storming in and yelling at them (from what they could see and what they knew – the videos didn’t have audio). Bluestreak laughed – laughed! – and wiped an energon-stained hand over his forehelm. Smokescreen's doorwings were twitching with suppressed giggles. 

Giggles! While they were stained with each other's energon, missing half their armor, wires spilling out, lines sparking. Laughing! Smiling!

“This... it doesn't make sense.”

Sideswipe nodded in agreement. “Hey, wasn't Barricade one of the first mechs on Earth?”

“Hm. I think so? You think you can find his records?”

“Possibly.”

An hour later, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were still frowning at the screen. 

“Look here, Sunny.”

“Wait, wasn't he killed in battle? How... Where did you get this?”

“Ghost files. Barricade surrendered. Then they changed it, marked him as KIA.”

Sunstreaker trapped his chin thoughtfully. “What about Bluestreak? When did he join up?” 

“Years before they changed it. And Smokescreen was entered in about then as well.”

“Any more ghost files?”

“Nope. They've been overwritten, if there were any.”

“Slag.”

Sideswipe cocked his helm to the side. A slow grin spread over his face, “Not quite. It's been quite a few years, but... Sam.”

“Sam?”

“Sam.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Hey, guys,” the man said, the skin around his eyes folding as he smiled. He had aged well – Ratchet had claimed it had something to do with the AllSpark and the human's exposure to it – but the years were beginning to show. 

“Hey, Sam!” Sideswipe greeted with a smile. “We've... got a couple questions?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, but nodded and smiled. “Okay. How can I help?”

“Well, we...”

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged a glance. “We want to know what the deal is with Barricade's records.”

The human froze, his face pale. “Oh.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having fun with my iPod and my drawing apps yesterday, and drew this: 
> 
> Goes with Chapter 11.

Chapter 14

It was hours before the Twins let the human go. And when they did, it was with blank expressions and wide optics. 

Sam left feeling much heavier than he felt when he had first seen the two mechs. After a few moments of deliberation, he headed off to find Bluestreak. 

He found the gray mech in the Rec Room. “Hey, Blue?”

“Hi, Sam! How're you doing?”

“I... Blue? There's something... something you need to know.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The Twins sat there in their quarters for a long time, simply staring at each other. 

It was Sideswipe who broke the silence. “Sunny?”

“I don't know what to think, Sides. It's... Blue? A Decepticon? And Barricade to boot?”

“I... Sad thing is, I can see it. He's... he's tough.”

“And what with the spark energy donations... Bumblebee's especially.”

“Yeah. But from what Sam said, he was like that before.”

“Well... He was sharing his head with a psychologist. I’m sure Smokey straightened him out pretty fast.”

“True.”

The Twins sat back. 

“So what do we do?”

Sideswipe vented. “I don't know, bro. I mean... he's a Con!”

“Was?”

“I don't know. I think... maybe?”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

 

Bluestreak only sighed as Sam finished. “Thank you for telling me, Sam.”

The human smiled sadly. “I'm sorry I-”

“Don't worry about it. They are very persistent. I know. It's not your fault.”

“Thanks, Blue.”

Bluestreak shook his helm as the man moved toward the door. Sam waved one last time as he left, and the gray gunner nodded in farewell. After the human had left, he simply sat on his berth, staring at the wall. 

“Well, that failed spectacularly,” he murmured to himself.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

For close to the next week, Bluestreak actively avoided the Twins, and Smokescreen refused to seek them out as he would have usually. 

The Twins, like Smokescreen, didn't seek out the Praxians. 

“This 's getting ridiculous,” Jazz said to his mate as he watched Bluestreak edge through the door, optics riveted on the Twins, who had entered a moment before. 

“Agreed. The Twins are obviously...”

“Undecided, p'raps? Ah thinik they need a li'l push.”

“Or something of the like. They seem to be slightly unsure as to what to do with the fact that Bluestreak was Barricade. I believe they have come to terms with it, though.”

“Hm. We could lock 'em in a closet?”

“They would just break out, Jazz.”

“Right. Um...”

“We will come up with something.”

Jazz gave his bondmate a wry smile. “O' course.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Bluestreak just stared at the Second and Third in Command as they locked the cell closed. “What the heck did I do?”

Jazz just grinned and nodded. Prowl flicked his doorwings. A moment later, they were gone. 

The gray gunner stared, stunned, at the door they had disappeared through. “What the frag?” Why was he in the brig?

A moment later, the bondmates escorted two more mechs through the door and into the same cell as Bluestreak. The gunner watched with wide, frightened optics as the Twins were shown into his cell. 

“Now, ya all know th' rules fer when in th' brig. Have fun, now!”

“Hey, wait!” Sideswipe called, frowning. “What did we do? Why are we in here?”

“Yeah, and for how long?” Sunstreaker added. 

Prowl and Jazz exchanged a glance. “You haven't done anything wrong, but you three need to work out your differences. The brig is one of the few places you can't break out of. As for when you get out... Well.”

“We'll be watchin' th' monitors.”

With that, they turned and left. 

The Twins warily turned to face their brig-mate, who was cowering back into the berth. Without saying anything, they exchanged a glance and sat down slowly. 

Bluestreak watched with wide optics. 

They simply sat for a long time, staring at each other. Finally, Sideswipe heaved a heavy vent. 

“Look, Blue, we're sorry for prying.”

Bluestreak just stared. It was... unnerving. Bluestreak didn't do silence. He didn't just sit and stare. It... it wasn't _right_. 

“We were just curious. I mean... you were so defensive about us seeing you fighting, and we never knew anything ever about where you came from or who you were... It... We're sorry.”

“We are, you know,” Sunstreaker said, leaning forward slightly. “I mean... it's good to know, but... We should have just asked.”

Bluestreak finally moved, venting and moving to sit more comfortably. “No... If you had, I would have just kept freezing up and not saying anything. It was stupid of me to try to keep it a secret.”

Sideswipe smiled gently. “Yeah, well, we're still sorry. Even if... if it turns out.”

The gray and red mech vented again. “And... what about... about me?”

“What about you?”

“About... about me being Bar- Barricade?”

The Twins once again exchanged a glance. Sideswipe spoke for them both. “We... at first, we were a bit, ah, iffy. But as stupid as we act sometimes, we can think. You... Red Alert trusts you. So does Prowl. If they hadn't, then we'd probably be a little more...”

“Nervous?” Sunstreaker interjected, and Sideswipe nodded. 

“Yeah. But they do trust you, and... and you've protected us better than anyone ever has before...”

Bluestreak finally unfolded completely, dangling his legs over the edge of the berth. “You really mean it?”

“Of course.”

A sweet, genuine smile spread over the gunner's faceplates, and the cell door clicked. 

Sunstreaker, the closest to the bars, gave it a push, and it swung open. 

“Fraggers,” Sideswipe muttered under the sound of his exvents, and Bluestreak giggled. 

Neither Prowl nor Jazz contacted them as they left, but the three Autobots didn't really care. They had a whole week of conversations to catch up on.


	15. Chapter 15 -- The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end. It's been a long, fun run, and I'll be sad to see this bunny go. Thanks, Starfire201, for the wonderful bunny! I had fun with it, and I hope everyone else did too!

Chapter 15 – End

Bluestreak was grinning. Not an odd occurrence, to be sure. 

The energon spattered over his frame and the yellow optic connected to a tangle of wires dangling from his hand were, however, a tiny bit more out of the ordinary, as was the shattered purple frame he was standing on. 

Everyone was staring. Megatron's jaw was hanging in stunned horror. Optimus Prime was a frozen statue on the battleground. Prowl was fighting off a glitch. Smokescreen was looking on with some sort of twisted smugness. The Twins were making googly optics at the gunner. 

And Shockwave... Well, Shockwave couldn't do much staring anymore. Actually, he couldn't do much of anything anymore. 

“Well,” the gray gunner said, shaking his hand and dropping the optic. It fell to the ground, cracking as it bounced across the organic soil. “That's the end of that.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would have been drooling, had they been of a species that was capable of such a feat. They shook the awe off and strode forward, wrapping the gunner in their arms, each claiming a solid, passionate kiss. 

“Primus, Blue. You've never looked so good before.”

Bluestreak giggled. “Thanks.”

“Wait, what? When did this happen? Twins...” Smokescreen ground out warningly, his doorwings flared behind him. 

Sideswipe glanced over. “What? We're courting Blue. Have been for a while now.”

“Courting?” Smokescreen croaked, sounding rather strangled. 

“Um. Yeah?”

“AAAAARGH!”

The blue and red Praxian charged forward, claws outstretched. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker lurched away from their lover and took off, running for their lives from the enraged diversionary tactician. 

Prowl shook his helm, and Optimus shot him a disbelieving stare. “Are you not- should you- Prowl?”

“Don't worry, Prime. Smokescreen will not harm them. Much.”

Jazz's silver helm suddenly popped into view, the rest of his frame hidden behind his mate's. “Yeah, he did th' same fer me when Ah first announced Ah was courtin' Prowler,” he said with a grin, then ducked back down. 

Optimus stared some more, then just shook his helm and looked upward. “Primus, why me?”

Megatron was blinking rapidly at both Smokescreen and the Twins, and Optimus Prime and his officers. “What the frag?”

“Long story, Megatron,” Jazz said, again peeking up from behind Prowl, where he was definitely _not_ hiding. Because that would be unbecoming of the Head of Special Operations and the Third in Command of the Autobot forces. 

“I... Are you all this crazy?”

Prowl blinked and exchanged a glance with his commander. “Megatron,” he finally said, giving the warlord a flat stare, “is that really something you want answered?”

“I... You know what, Decepticons! Retreat!” This was just too weird. Not to mention he was down an officer.

The stunned forces took a moment, but they did follow their leader's orders and fell back. Smokescreen continued chasing the Twins, and the rest of the Autobot army watched on.

“I'M GONNA TEAR YOU INTO SCRAP METAL! RATCHET WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO USE YOUR PIECES TO PATCH UP A MINIBOT! GET BACK HERE YOU SLAGGING PIECES OF SCRAP!”

Bluestreak giggled. Life couldn't get better. 

Well, maybe Smokescreen could stop chasing the Twins, but hey, you couldn't have everything you wanted.

_The End_


End file.
